


In Another Life

by Seraph_Novak



Series: Destiel One-Shots [42]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholic Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blushing Dean Winchester, Castiel Acts Like Endverse Castiel, Drugs, Fallen Angel Castiel (Supernatural), First Meetings, Flirting, M/M, No Apocalypse, One Shot, Open Ending, POV Dean Winchester, Rehabilitation, mentioned overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 10:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15604341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraph_Novak/pseuds/Seraph_Novak
Summary: After a bad hunt, Dean is thrown into rehab for public intoxication. There, he meets the infamous fallen angel, Castiel, and a budding friendship is born.





	In Another Life

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! I really struggled with this fic request for two reasons: 1. I don't know much about rehab, and 2. This is my first time writing endverse!Cas. I hope it's not too terrible though... It was difficult to write, but I still had fun with it.
> 
> As always, all comments and kudos are very much appreciated :) ♥

He’s sitting in the rec room, silently counting down the days until his release, when he senses he’s being watched. After two decades of hunting, he’s learnt to keep his instincts on high alert at all times, which is why he can feel a pair of eyes on him as easily as a punch to the stomach.

A quick glance around the room confirms his suspicions; there’s a dirty-looking guy blatantly staring at him a few tables down, a suggestive grin tugging at his dusty pink lips.

Dean clears his throat and looks away. He doesn’t want the guy coming over and talking to him – not if he’s as bat-shit crazy as the last person who tried to make conversation with him. All he wants to do is keep out of trouble and do his time in peace.

He can hear the strange man approaching his table, but he refuses to lift his head and acknowledge him. If he ignores him for long enough, maybe he’ll get bored and find someone else to harass.

“I know you,” the guy says, his voice surprisingly deep and gritty.

Dean forces a smile. “Yeah, I don’t think so, pal.”

“You’re Dean Winchester.”

“What?”

“I think you heard me correctly.”

Dean clenches his fists. “How the hell d’you know my name?”

“Your existence has been prophesised for eons,” the man says simply, lifting an amused eyebrow. “How the hell _wouldn’t_ I know your name?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m an angel of the Lord.” He shrugs. “Or at least I used to be.”

Dean snorts. “You expect me to believe that?”

“I’d provide you with more concrete proof, but sadly my grace was extinguished during my fall.”

“How convenient.”

“Quite the opposite, actually.”

Dean decides to humour him; if he’s stuck in this hell hole for 30 days, he might as well have some fun. “If you’re an angel, you must know about the apocalypse, right?”

“You mean the apocalypse that never came to pass when you stopped your brother from releasing Lucifer from his cage in the nick of time?”

Dean balks. “What... How did you –”

“I’m an angel, remember?”

“But, but –”

“Looks can be deceiving, Dean.” The man thrusts out his hand, another lazy smile slipping into place. “My name is Castiel. You might know me as the angel who screwed up on numerous occasions and was eventually cast out of heaven by his brothers and sisters.”

Dean stares down at his hand in horror. “You’re the angel that killed Raphael?”

“In my defence, he _did_ try to kickstart the apocalypse twice.”

“So, you’re saying you’re a good guy?”

“I suppose that’s up to you.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “You almost started a civil war in Heaven.”

“It was all for the greater good, I can assure you.”

“Yeah. That’s what they all say.”

“Yourself included.”

“Touché,” he says, pursing his lips. “That don’t mean we’re on the same side, though. You winged bastards are all the same.”

Castiel smirks. “That’s a little prejudiced, don’t you think?”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“Fair enough.”

Dean studies the so-called angel’s face for a moment, casually admiring the moody hue of his storm-coloured eyes. His square jaw is dusted with stubble, and his baggy shirt is hanging off his lean shoulders, revealing a strip of tanned, faultless skin. But it’s the way his body keeps jerking like a beached whale that really grabs his attention.

“Withdrawals?” he asks, nodding down at his shaking hands.

Castiel huffs a laugh. “A self-induced high isn’t quite the same as being pumped full of grace, but it’s close enough.”

“That why you’re in here?”

“Overdose,” Castiel concedes with a shrug.  

“You do it on purpose?”

“I’m not sure.”

Dean stares at him for a moment. “You shouldn’t do it, man. It’s not worth it.”

“Neither is living in this cesspit of a world.”

“That’s a little harsh.”

“I’d say it’s a little generous.” Castiel is silent for a moment, a joyless grin slowly spreading across his face. “But enough about me... How did you find yourself in this lovely establishment?”

Dean grimaces. “I got a bit drunk, ended up throwing a brick through a window. I might’ve peed on a public bench as well.”

“Bad hunt?”

“How d’you know?”

“Hunting is your life, isn’t it?”

“It sounds kinda sad when you put it like that.”

“It is.”

Dean scoffs. “You don’t hold back, do you?”

“Of course not.” Castiel leans across the table and rests his chin on his hand. “So, what happened on the hunt?”

“Nothing. Just the usual crap.”

“Did someone get hurt?”

“A girl,” Dean says, wincing at the memory of her chewed-up corpse lying in the middle of the forest. “We could’ve saved her, but... we were too late. It never gets easier, you know?”

Castiel tilts his head to the side and gives him a crooked smile. “You’re a good person, aren’t you?”

“I dunno. I mean, I try to be, but –”

“It was a rhetorical question. You are, at your core, a good person.”

Dean squirms beneath the undue praise. “I’m really not that great, actually.”

“Why do you think you were rescued from hell? Because your inherent goodness is what makes you a great hunter. Out of all the people in the world, you were the only one capable of preventing the apocalypse.” Castiel chuckles. “You were stronger than heaven and hell combined.”

“Well, someone had to stop the angels from screwing us over.”

“And that someone was you.”

“Why’re you making such a big deal out of it, man?”

Castiel’s expression suddenly turns cold. “I was originally tasked with rescuing you from hell,” he explains. “But then the angels turned on me.”

“Why’d they do that?”

“Because I’d discovered their plans to bring forth the apocalypse,” he says, a sardonic smile twisting his lips. “I was going to rescue you from hell, then brand your ribs with Enochian sigils and hide you somewhere safe – somewhere they couldn’t find you and use you.”

Dean lets this sink in. “And they... _punished_ you for that?”

“They kept me incarcerated for some time, but I eventually escaped.” He grins again. “That’s when I killed Raphael.”

“You’re a crazy sonofabitch,” Dean says, smiling despite himself. “It’s weird to think we could’ve been friends in a different life, huh?”

Castiel licks his lips and shrugs. “Or maybe more.”

“Wait, what?”

“We could’ve been more than just friends.”

Dean flushes, a nervous laugh bubbling in his chest. “You know I’m not gay, right?”

“And I’m technically not a man.”

“I hate to break it to you, fella, but you’re not an angel anymore... You’re stuck with that body for good, which kinda makes you a guy now.”

Castiel smirks. “Something tells me you’re not as opposed to this vessel as you claim to be.”

“You’re wrong, pal.”

“I don’t think so.” He pats Dean on the cheek. “Your blush is very telling.”

“My what?”

“Your blush. It’s quite endearing.”

Dean swats his hand away, pointedly ignoring the way his heart keeps tripping over itself. “Ever heard of personal space, dude?”

Castiel is grinning from ear to ear now; he seems to be enjoying Dean’s frantic attempts to defend his masculinity. “How long are you here for?”

“Um... 30 days?”

“An entire month, huh?” He leans forward and flits his eyes over Dean’s face, staring down at his lips with a hungry expression before smiling sweetly and getting to his feet. “This is going to be fun.”

Dean watches him walk away, completely dumbstruck.

He didn’t expect to meet a fallen angel with a drug problem when they tossed him into rehab, but here he is, sitting in the same room as the infamous Castiel. But of all the weird things to have happened in the past twenty minutes, Dean is mostly concerned by the swirling sensation in his gut.

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs to himself. “I’ve got the hots for a fucking angel...”


End file.
